


Celebratory surprise

by stormthedarkcity



Series: The Pearl [8]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Established Relationship, Fluff and Smut, Gags, Light Bondage, M/M, Safeword Use, Smut, Trans Character, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-10
Updated: 2020-04-10
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:20:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23572984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stormthedarkcity/pseuds/stormthedarkcity
Summary: Dear Alistair,There’s a surprise in your bedroom, and it’s very eager for you to be home… Take good care of it, yeah? He deserves a little sweet loving, I think.
Relationships: Alistair/Zevran Arainai
Series: The Pearl [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1534775
Comments: 20
Kudos: 63





	Celebratory surprise

**Author's Note:**

> Psst, I got a gift fic for this series, and it can slot itself right between the previous part and this one! You can read A Perfect Morning by DemigodKirin right [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23338162) if you're interested <3 <3 It's very cute!
> 
> Content warning: near the end of this fic Zevran briefly talks about feeling unsafe/unworthy as a trans person, and being careful who he comes out to. It's all good now though, he doesn't linger on it.

Zevran is in Alistair’s bed.

Zevran is in Alistair’s bed, wearing only lingerie, a satin blindfold over his eyes, and a rather uncomfortable-looking ball gag in his mouth. His wrists are crossed over his head and wrapped in clever knots made from red rope that’s tied firmly around the headboard.

Alistair looks back down at the piece of paper he’s found on his kitchen counter as he’d just entered his flat.

_Dear Alistair,  
_ _There’s a surprise in your bedroom, and it’s very eager for you to be home… Take good care of it, yeah? He deserves a little sweet loving, I think._  
_PS: ask him for his safeword, it’s easier shown that said. Or, well, written, I suppose… It was his idea to leave a written note. I wanted to wait for you to come home and tell you myself, but he wouldn’t let me talk to you. Damn you for making him monogamous.  
_ _Love, Isabela._

They’d talked about this, Zevran and him. Most of it was just musings, murmured teasing words to get Alistair worked up in public; but sometimes they talked about it more seriously, as they laid in bed together, cooling down from some other fooling around. He hadn’t quite expected to find his boyfriend in such a predicament as he was coming back from work, but still, he has to admit there were worse surprises.

He removes his coat, leaving it blindly on the back of a chair, and walks up to the bed, on the edge of which he sits. Zevran turns his face toward him and he mumbles a sound around the ball in his mouth.

“Hey, beautiful,” Alistair murmurs.

Zevran jumps a little when his hand cups his cheek, but then he presses into the touch.

“Can you show me your safeword?”

Zevran’s wrists strain against the rope as he clicks his fingers twice, sharply, before letting his hands relax again.

“Thank you.”

Zevran’s chest is rising and falling steadily, if a little fast. Alistair spreads a hand on the warm skin, earning himself a sigh and a small shudder.

“Do you want me to take care of you?”

Zevran nods a little shakily, and Alistair can’t help but smooth a hand down his golden hair.

He can’t guess exactly what Zevran wants, but he supposes he wouldn’t have put himself in this situation if he didn’t trust him to give him — if not what he wanted — at least something he enjoyed. Giving Zevran things he enjoys happens to be one of Alistair’s favourite things, and he’s also really fond of paying attention to his cues and acting according to them, so this situation is actually quite a nice surprise. Not to mention, Alistair muses, that it’s a lot easier to pay attention to other cues when Zevran can’t look at him with these piercing eyes of his.

Alistair returns his hand to Zevran’s chest, and lets it drag to his stomach as his gaze flicks further down. Zevran is only wearing panties, black and red, all made from lace, part of it see-through — Alistair has never seen these. _Are they new? Did he buy them just for tonight?_

He opens his mouth to ask, before remembering he won’t be able to give a full answer. He vaguely wonders whether the gag is a punishment to Zevran or to him. He already misses Zevran’s voice.

Zevran mumbles and squirms impatiently under his hand.

Maybe it’s not a punishment at all.

“You like that gag, don’t you?”

Zevran nods. Alistair lets his hand wander around Zevran’s torso.

“Do…Do you want me to ask for direction, or should I take decisions myself? Hmm. Wait.” He shakes his head. “You can’t answer that. Should I take decisions myself?”

This time, Zevran’s nod is more enthusiastic, and it makes Alistair laugh.

“You might come to regret that, you know.”

Zevran whines from behind the gag. He pushes his body into the hand wandering on it and Alistair, finding himself visited by an idea, lifts his hand off entirely. Zevran makes a sound of protest.

“Have some patience,” Alistair gently admonishes as he moves further into the bed so he’ll tower over his boyfriend’s body. “Don’t move. I said I would take care of you, yeah?”

Zevran pulls back from his tense stance, arranging his body in its initial position again.

_So obedient._

Seeing him being submitted to his word is so unusual for Alistair that he feels a little dizzy from it; void, even when he assured him he was at his command, he always had that smug bit of control, of defiance. But there isn’t even a hint of that brattiness today in Zevran’s behaviour. He just lays there patiently, gag digging in the sides of his mouth, his chest on display from the position of his arms.

His scars look lovely in the light of the bedside lamps. They always look lovely. So do the tattoos that wrap all around his body, curling in delicate lines that Alistair will never be tired of looking at.

Of looking at, or of following with his fingers. He does exactly that, tracing the patterns with one finger and then another, across his collarbones, under his scars, following his ribs and swirling around his hipbones. Zevran’s breathing picks up a little, but he doesn’t move. He does make a muffled noise of surprise, though, when Alistair replaces his fingers with his tongue. His skin is smooth. Warm. It smells of him, so familiar and so loved. Goosebump appears all at once, across his chest and around his arms, as Alistair stops right under his right nipple, the most sensitive.

Alistair shifts his body to get a better angle, before lapping at the nipple with the flat of his tongue. Zevran shudders, but he obediently stays put. The rope creaks as he pulls on it. Alistair wraps his lips around his nipple and sucks softly; he’s rewarded by a muffled cry. Zevran’s thighs pull closer together, rubbing and squirming, and Alistair doesn’t have the heart to forbid him from getting whatever meagre stimulation he’s giving himself. If he’s even aware he’s doing it.

Pliant. that’s the word Zevran uses when Alistair gets like that, soft, and obedient, and open. Zevran is _pliant_ under his touch, melting like candle wax, following his directions with ease.

Is he floating, too, like Alistair’s head sometimes float when Zevran takes command? Is he feeling that blissful void between two planes of reality?

Alistair hopes he is. It’s a good place to be in.

He steadies his hold around his nipple and, while keeping an eye on Zevran’s hands for his safeword, slowly bites down through his lips. They’ve done this before. Zevran whines and trembles, and he throws his head back, but his hands remain lax. Alistair keeps his hold for a few seconds before letting go. Zevran relaxes under him as soon as he does, and then his head falls to the side as Alistair licks him softly to ease the bite.

He does it again, for good measure, and because it makes Zevran rub his thighs against each other with more urgency when he does.

Alistair keeps his eyes on Zevran’s face as he blindly follows his abdomen with his fingers, all the way down to his panties.

He’s wet. Soaked right through the lace. He protests, shakes and squirms as Alistair only slides lightly over the fabric. It’s a lot, for Zevran, with his hormonal treatment, and the sheer feeling of the warm dampness there makes his heartbeat grow louder in his ears. The delicate lingerie is sticky as he slips his hands under the waistband, on the sides, and drags it down Zevran’s legs. Zevran whines and brings his thighs together again as soon as he’s exposed to the air.

And then Alistair can’t stand the idea of spending a single more second without tasting him, so he moves to go between his legs and, when it becomes obvious he won’t have the space to lay down with Zevran’s current position, he sits on his heels and slowly lifts Zevran’s legs up, one on each side of his head, propping his thighs on his shoulders. Zevran lets himself be moved easily, although his hips thrust upward in the air, just once, as Alistair settles them close to his face. He traps them with a firm hand. Zevran settles. He doesn’t protest at the way his abdomen is curled in on himself; Alistair briefly wonders if his breathing could be affected by the position, but he seems comfortable enough and his hands are still lax, so he supposes he’s doing fine.

As soon as he’s ridden himself of this concern, he’s hit with a wave of burning, melting _need_ at the heat and scent of Zevran, right in front of him. He brings him closer to breathe him in. Extends his tongue out, flat, and licks Zevran hungrily, all the way from his entrance to the root of his clit. Zevran cries out as his legs spasm behind Alistair, but he’s otherwise complying with Alistair’s grip on him, and his hips barely move.

He wants to, though. Alistair wants him to as well, just a little. He usually likes seeing Zevran rebel against him; but not today. Today is about taking care of him. He licks him again, with more pressure, and then presses his face against him as he buries his tongue inside of him. He’s so very warm. So very needy. So very open and trusting.

Alistair licks him, he sucks, teases and flicks, absorbing every muffled cry and every shudder of his body.

He can’t always make Zevran come, but he’s managed it before, with his mouth, so he persists tirelessly. He’s getting increasingly aware of how much this is affecting _him_ , but he can’t stand the idea of focusing on anything other than Zevran, so he just opens his jeans to reduce the painful strain and files the information of how hard he is to a corner of his brain.

Alistair _loves_ this. Has loved it since he’s first done it. He loves feeling Zevran writhe in his grip, loves the power he holds at the tip of his tongue, loves the taste of Zevran’s pleasure.

Zevran’s cries grow louder from behind his gag. He’s having a hard time not bucking up against him, Alistair can feel it in the tension of his thighs around his head, he can see it in the way his stomach contracts and relaxes rhythmically with each pointed swipe of his tongue.

And then Zevran makes that sound, almost like a sob, and he tugs hard on the rope, and his heels dig into Alistair’s back, holding him close to his throbbing dick as he comes. Alistair keeps his mouth where it is, sucking softly and soothingly, as Zevran’s thighs slowly let go of their grip. He can’t stop looking at Zevran’s face. It’s mostly hidden behind the blindfold and the gag, but Alistair knows it enough to guess every expression behind them.

There’s two quick finger clicks. Alistair’s gaze snaps to his hands. Zevran clicks his fingers again.

Alistair lowers his body back to the bed and scrambles to the top of it as Zevran turns his head to the side, exposing the strap holding the ball gag in place. He pants as the ball is removed from his mouth, covered in thick saliva.

Alistair sits in his heel next to him. “Are you alright, Zev?”

“Very much so. Again, _Amor_. Please. Again.” There’s no smile on his lips, but there is one in his voice.

“I don’t—”

Zevran shakes his head urgently. “Make me come again.”

“Won’t that… Won’t that be too much right now? Won’t that hurt?”

Zevran’s lips stretch into a smile as he snorts. “Oh, yes. Again. _Please_.”

Alistair plants his forehead into the mattress and groans, with feeling. “Can I come inside of you?” he says. Begs.

“ _Sí_ , _Caro_ , _sí._ ”

Alistair wrestles his trousers down his legs as he moves back down Zevran’s body; but it’s no easy task, and he’s all out of patience, so when he finds himself close to Zevran’s open legs again and his trousers are stuck at the ankles, he gives up on removing them all the way.

He places a hand on Zevran’s side, pushing him to roll over on his stomach. The rope at Zevran’s wrists creaks but it moves with him. Alistair then holds his hips firmly and pulls them up, until Zevran is resting on his knees with his torso down and his ass level with Alistair’s cock. He shivers as Alistair puts a hand between his shoulder blades, pushing his chest further into the mattress. He’s waiting. The side of his face pushed into the mattress, breathing hard and shaky through his open mouth. Alistair can see his entrance pulsing softly as he grips an ass cheek to line himself up.

He enters him in one smooth movement, and almost collapses at how good it feels. He’s groaning, he thinks. Zevran is making these loud panting noises, now that his mouth is free, and Alistair realises how much he’d missed that sound.

Zevran’s dick is still damp with his saliva when Alistair reaches around his body; Zevran cries out and trembles, and he turns his face into the mattress to muffle the rest of his shout.

The tattoos on his back are shiny with sweat. They move with his muscles, rolling with the roll of Alistair’s hips, just like dark waves on his brown skin.

It’s gorgeous. It’s gorgeous, it's gorgeous, it’s gorgeous. Alistair thinks he could do this sort of things with Zevran for the rest of his life, and never ever not marvel at how much of a work of art Zevran is under his fingers.

Zevran pants and screams and moans with the — almost cruel — touches at his clit, moving his face to the side and then hiding it again against the mattress. He’s shaking with every limb. His jaw clenches, sometimes, as he inhales through his nose; he’s not thrusting against Alistair. That’s not his job.

He comes again. Shouts, actually shouts, head thrown back and hands clenched into fists and his body pulls Alistair in, squeezing and squeezing, and then Alistair is coming too.

It’s a struggle not to fall on top of him. He holds himself over Zevran’s body onto trembling arms, until he’s gathered enough energy to pull out and crawl back up to Zevran’s face.

Zevran rolls onto his side. His hair is all messed-up, shiny golden strands tangled around the blindfold and stuck to his mouth. Alistair gently pushes them away from his face.

“Blindfold off?” he asks. His voice is hoarse.

“Please.” Zevran isn’t any better.

Alistair pushes the blindfold up into his hair, and Zevran bats his eyelashes against the light, before looking at him. The corners of his eyes are damp with tears. Alistair wipes them gently with his thumb, earning himself a tired smile.

“You have quite the magic touch, _Amor_ , as always,” Zevran purrs, and Alistair wants to laugh, but he looks so very in love in this instant that he doesn’t have much breath to laugh with.

“How— How do I untie this?” he asks instead.

Zevran rolls back onto his stomach to consider the rope with a pout. He extends a finger and points at a loose loop.

“Tug onto this one.”

Alistair follows the directive, and the rope untangles itself fluidly. As soon as he’s free, Zevran sits and brings his arms in front of his chest while he rolls his shoulders, eyes closed. He sighs happily.

“Happy anniversary, _Amor_.”

He’s smiling. He opens his eyes when Alistair doesn’t answer right away, and frowns at whatever he finds on his face.

Alistair feels a little like he’s falling, and not in a pleasant way.

“N—No,” he protests in a weak voice, “that’s not it. It’s in three weeks. I’m certain I got it right.”

“It has been one year, day for day, since you first came to the Pearl.”

“Wait, _that’s_ what you count as our anniversary?”

Zevran rubs softly at his wrists, one and then the other, assessing the damage. “Do you not?”

“No! I count our first kiss! Why— Why would you count the Pearl?”

Alistair wants to get to the bottom of this, but he also can’t ignore Zevran’s wrists any longer, so he holds his hands out to examine them himself. They’re chaffed, with red criss-crosses where the skin is thin, and he has the sudden urge to lick these burns better.

He doesn't.

Zevran grabs Alistair’s wrists in return before he can realise what’s happening, and his voice is serious as he talks again, steady despite its hoarseness.

“This date is important to me, Alistair, because it is when I let you see that I was transgender. You know I wear the pin every day at work, but letting strangers see it was different from letting…someone I already cared about see it.” He swipes his thumbs back and forth on Alistair’s wrists. A soothing movement; Alistair isnt sure who it’s for.

“When one is transgender and passes well,” he continues, “coming out is a big decision. It is much like giving someone a knife and hoping they do not use it against you. That day, at the Pearl, when you looked at my pin…” He sighs. “I was terrified. I did not worry for my safety, not with Bela close-by, but I feared you might not wish to spend any more time with me if you knew.”

Alistair’s throat closes in on itself so painfully he feels a little nauseous. He can’t imagine what it can be like to feel things like that. “I don’t… I would never… You’re Zevran. You’re _Zevran_. Who cares, I would never…”

Zevran smiles a little weakly as he looks back up at him. “I know that now. I appreciate you being by my side, Alistair. It is… not always easy to find cisgender people who care, and who listen.”

“I care. I love you, Zevran. And I— I hope I never make you feel like anything is— like anything is _wrong_ with you, or whatever, just because of who you are.”

Zevran blinks. He might be chasing away tears, Alistair isn’t sure.

“You listen,” he repeats. “You are good for me, because you listen.”

Alistair brings their hands up, and he kisses the spots on Zevran’s wrists where the rope left a trace. It's almost as good as licking his wounds.

“Will you get us water?” Zevran asks.

“Of course.”

Alistair feels a little wobbly, but he makes it to the kitchen and back with two glasses of water. He downs his in a few seconds, while Zevran sips his own slowly, looking at him over the rim.

“I fear I have upset you,” he finally says, holding his glass between both his hands. “I did not mean to, and I apologise. It seems obvious now, but I did not think that you might have a different version of our anniversary date.”

Alistair sighs. “No, I— I’m sorry, it’s not your fault. I just feel like I should have been… better, if I knew it you considered today to be our anniversary.” He winces.

Zevran smiles, sly and delighted, all the way to his eyes.

“Oh you were _very_ good, I promise, _Querido_. I did come twice.” he pauses. “Also, I— Well. I suppose there is not point in keeping it a secret any longer. I have been reducing my medication dosage, and I have been hoping for some… change, in how my body handles my pleasure."

“Oh. How long have your dosage been lower for?”

“A few weeks. Almost a month now. I did not want to tell you until I saw the effects for myself, because I thought it would be an unnecessary pressure on our _fun times_.”

“How is it? For your… mental health, I mean.”

Zevran smiles softly, ducking his head. “As a matter of fact, I am doing rather well. It was the right moment to reduce my dosage, I reckon.” His fingers follow the rim of his glass, around and around and around. It’s hypotonic. He looks relaxed, to a degree that he rarely does.

It makes Alistair’s heart feel warm and his knees feel weak.

A year. It’s been a year since he’s gathered the courage to go to the Pearl. Almost a year since they first kissed.

He clicks his fingers as he remembers something, snapping Zevran out of his reverie. “The restaurant!” he says. “I had a dinner table booked on what _I_ consider to be our anniversary.”

“That sounds perfect, _Cielito_.”

It doesn’t sound perfect at all to Alistair. It sounds a little stupid, even, now. “It was meant to be a surprise,” he whines as he buries his face into his hands. “And now I made you feel like I didn’t care about our anniversary.”

“You did not,” Zevran says in his cutting voice, the one that doesn't allow for contradictions nor questioning. His tone gets softer as he continues. “I am looking forward to that dinner. And besides, nothing keeps us from doing something like this again that night, now, is there? Perhaps that time we should bind _you_ , hmm?” he purrs, and then raises an eyebrow when Alistair stays silent.

He feels his cheeks heat up at the idea of being on the receiving end of such attention; Zevran’s smile turns sharp and dangerous.

“Oh, yes, I think we should do just that,” he drawls.

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to imagine Isabela helping Zevran get ready up until the last minute (because they didn't time it right, and because she doesn't want to leave him tied up alone), before hearing the key in the lock and probably like jumping out the window. She's a true ride-or-die friend... but also she'll absolutely make Zevran pay for the nail she broke trying to sneak out.


End file.
